Tag Archives: M/M erotic romance

I’m so excited for everyone to catch up with Kyrie and Greg, and to meet Andy–finally!

Blurb:

Greg Dwyer and Kyrie Li are living the glorious couple life in New York City. Or are they? When struggling actor Kyrie lands a modeling job, he’s ecstatic to have extra cash to spend on his best-friend-turned-boyfriend.

Of course, Greg is suspicious Anders Berglund, the gorgeous and androgynous Swedish cover model the designers love to pair with Kyrie, is after his man. And maybe Kyrie encourages a growing closeness with the guy?

Greg is probably to blame if Kyrie is drawn to the openly gay and seriously beautiful Andy. With Andy, Kyrie can be himself, as loud and proud as he’s always been. But Greg’s sexuality stays firmly locked in the closest except when he’s with Kyrie’s supportive family or alone with the man he loves.

To make matters worse, Greg’s out-of-touch mom meets with financial ruin and moves in with the couple, forcing him into the closet in his own home.

Can Greg find a way to stand up to Mommy Dearest and win back a love he fought so hard to reach? He discovers the road to pride begins at home and with accepting oneself first. Otherwise, it’s just a dead-end street.

Excerpt:

Two changing screens filled a large portion of the next room. A woman stood at the rack of clothes, organizing and examining them. She beckoned Kyrie over. He recognized some of his attire hanging before her.

“I’m not confident about the fit in the chest, Daphne.” A soft voice with a delightful Nordic lilt came from behind the screen to his right.

The tall brunette turned. “Let’s see. I can take it in if need be.” Daphne put her hands on her hips, and Anders Berglund stepped out. He wore a black ball gown with ebony feathers accenting the bodice. They created a starkly jagged edge against his bare skin. The material gapped before his pale chest, and Daphne was immediately behind him, tugging, marking the fabric with a piece of chalk.

He grinned like a fool. “That’s me. I’m absolutely-positively-beyond-excited to be working with you.” He stepped forward, hand out, and Anders Berglund took the offering. His grip wasn’t overly firm, soft skin hiding delicate bones beneath.

“My agent sent me your test shots once he found out we were working together.” The words were slow and measured, especially striking on the heels of Kyrie’s run-on exclamation. Anders’ accent hinted of British influence on certain words. Must have learned the Queen’s version. “The camera really loves you.”

“I’m just hoping not to look like a troll next to the world’s current it model.” Kyrie knew he was attractive; he could claim pretty even, with the slight Asian slant to his unusual amber eyes. They popped against the light brown of his skin, accented further by thick, long lashes every woman he met was jealous of.

But Anders Berglund was flawless. His face was already made up: kohl-ringed turquoise eyes framed with what had to be fake lashes, his skin powdered to pale perfection, and berry-red lips with just the right amount of fullness and a perpetual sexy pout whether he was dressed as a man or a woman. His bone structure was impeccable, including high cheeks and the graceful neck to go with his six-foot-tall, ultra-thin frame. Straw-blond hair was piled on his head, escaped locks artfully framing his face. Women wished they looked like him. Men wanted to fuck him, at least until they realized the gorgeous supermodel was actually a man downstairs. And certainly, some men were still hot for him afterward.

Anders Berglund was far from Kyrie’s type, but he could appreciate iconic beauty when it stared back.

“Hah. I don’t think you could ever be a troll.” Anders scratched his shoulder with two fingers where the tip of a feather had to be driving him insane.

“Yeah, I’ll stitch this up a bit tighter.” She unzipped the back of the dress and slid it down. Anders stepped out and stood in black stockings held up by a garter with matching briefs. He waved at Kyrie, all bright white skin, jutting ribs, long limbs, and sharp hip bones. He looked breakable despite his height, like a piece of fine china.

“I would have come an hour early just to avoid hearing that a thousand times.”

Anders’ mouth twitched up. Daphne glared.

The off-white tux behind the other screen wasn’t part of the stash of clothes Kyrie had taken home. He’d been measured at the callback, and the powers that be had custom ordered additional pieces. He slipped into the slim-leg cream pants. If the benefactors of the Spectrum Spectacular truly had cut corners with some of the underthings, the suit was an exception. It draped precisely over his hips, and he twisted to check his ass in the full-length mirror in the center panel of the screen. The silk shirt pressed cool kisses to his chest with every movement he made.

In shape from almost daily running, Kyrie normally relied on skintight pants and formfitting shirts to best display his attributes, but this designer-cut clothing thing he could totally get used to. He scrutinized his butt again as he shrugged into the jacket with black-trimmed lapel.

If Greg could see me now…

Kyrie knotted the black bow tie and stepped out wearing a grin and a kick-tail tux. Daphne was fussing with Anders again, his ball gown back in place.

“What do you say, Andy? May I have this dance?” He swept into a low bow.

“Huh.” Kyrie stepped into the shoes, grumbling and shooting death rays with his eyes. Daphne finished with Anders, and it was Kyrie’s turn to be plucked like a Thanksgiving turkey. By the time she sent him out to the first shoot staging, Kyrie had begun to wonder why anyone would want to be a model.

Alex’s job working for his family-owned radio station once took him all over the city reporting on major events—until the accident. His scars, both physical and emotional, cause him to withdraw into a self-imposed, semi-reclusive lifestyle. When his dad requests that he go to the world’s largest hot air balloon festival, he has to find the courage to break his isolation. Now he needs to find the courage to trust and love again.

Jeff had already been planning a move to Albuquerque when he lost his home, parents, and dog to a wildfire in California. To begin his new life, he agrees to help his sister and brother-in-law with their balloon at the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta. Now he’s seen pigs fly and bees kissing, but will he find the love he’s been searching for?

Author Bio

A cartographer by day, A.L. Boyd spends most of her free time with her horses, gardening, or reading. She never intended to be a writer, but stories like this one sometimes just pop into her head. The writing came about as a way to get the stories out. Her first story for the Goodreads M/M Romance DRitC event Crest Ridge Vacation was expanded to the novella titled Crest Ridge.

Send Lawyers, Guns, and Roses by Heloise West releases on April 19, 2016. It’s the sequel to Hitting Black Ice, so I recommend you pick up the first in Heloise’s Heart and Haven series right now (if you haven’t already) so you’ll be primed for book two next week. Both novels are action-packed and sure to please any MM mystery lover!

Blurb:

When Hunter and Alex (formally Shawn) are given the vacation of a lifetime, it’s a chance for them to pay attention to romance and get out of the path of danger. The tiny Caribbean island of Saba is gorgeous, the first to have marriage equality, and the Sabans are the nicest people on earth.

There’s lots of rum poolside for relaxing and a room with a mirror on the ceiling for passion. Hot karaoke nights, cold beer, and new friends.

Their new friends Orfeo and Max, and Max’s sister Talisha, share a troubling secret. Alex and Hunter want to help. As a hurricane bears down on them, a dead body surfaces, and a purple backpack loaded with stolen jewels leads a pair of dangerous men to the island.

Alex would rather poke his own eyes out with a pointy stick than call on his old enemy Nick Truman for help; he’d also do anything to keep Hunter out of danger. But even his nemesis can’t reach them now.

Once again, they only have each other to depend on as their paradise is about to become hell on earth.

Hitting Black Ice:

ER physician’s assistant Hunter guards his heart carefully, but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Shawn, the front desk clerk. He keeps his distance from relationships for a reason, but just can’t help himself when it comes to Shawn.

Shawn is on the run from the law and love to protect himself and anyone else involved. One man is dead because of him, and his life now is simple and easily thrown into a bag at any hint of danger. Until he meets Hunter, and he no longer wants to run.

Forced into a hostage situation, buried passion explodes in the aftermath, and sex in the supply closet brings their hearts back to life. Tentatively, step by step, they begin to explore a relationship together until the past catches up with Shawn.

FBI agent Nick Truman has finally found his man, but when Shawn escapes, he focuses his attention on Hunter. Shawn returns, even though it means sacrificing himself to save Hunter from the man who framed him for murder.

Heloise West, when not hunched over the keyboard plotting love and mayhem, dreams about moving to a villa in Tuscany. She loves history, mysteries, and romance of all flavors. She travels and gardens with her partner of 10 years, and their home overflows with books, cats, art, and red wine.

I realized this morning I wasn’t going to do a Wednesday post this week because it’s already Thursday. Doh! That MLK day really screwed with my head. I’ve been wonky all week (more wonky than usual, I should say).

The newsletter signup and freebie are a go, after much agony from Calibre for some reason I still haven’t figured out. So, make my pain worthwhile and use this link to sign up for your free e-copy of “The Ferryman Cometh.”

I won’t spam you, I swear on all that is good and holy. I’ll only send the rare newsletter to let you know when I have something new coming out. Promise. Realistically, I can barely make myself blog, so that should give you an accurate sense of how often I’ll compose newsletters.

Okay, I’ve spent entirely too long in front of a computer today. I’m going to go pour a glass of wine and make some freakin’ meatloaf so kids can tell me it’s yucky in an hour because that’s the kind of day it’s been.

One heart’s been broken. The other is secondhand.

My book, Crossed Hearts, is on sale for 99 cents during a limited time Black Friday event! That’s right, 212 pages of sweet romance, hot lovin’, and feels, feels, feels. It’s a bargain at twice the price. If you haven’t yet picked up Crossed Hearts, now is your chance to read Kory and Will’s story for mere pennies.

When Kory stepped out of the shower, Will was gone. Kory opened the door and poked his head out into the early-evening humidity. No car. His eyes stung—had to be the neon orange of the drooping sun—and, shoulders hunched, he made for the kitchen to put together a shitty meal for one, made all the shittier by this rejection.

Probably for the best. Did you really think you could start a platonic relationship with an adorable gay guy?

Sure, Will played the stern authoritarian pretty damn well, but something about him seemed vulnerable and enticingly sweet at the same time. Maybe it was the odd expression that flashed across his face when Kory let his flirtatious nature win out. He couldn’t identify the vibe he got, couldn’t even say for certain it was real, but whatever those hopeful sparks followed by tiny frowns were, they called to Kory’s most basic instincts.

A guy who helps everyone else, but never has his own needs met. That Kory was the last man in the world who could add anything of value to Will’s life was irony at its best. Because he wanted to be the guy to do it, and he recognized that same yearning in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror. In his own heart now when it squeezed at the realization he’d misinterpreted Will’s cordial demeanor for something more—that he’d put himself out there and gotten turned down in the rudest possible way.

Not even a freakin’ note—

A scrap of paper on the pitted Formica countertop, right next to a pile of bills, caught his attention. He held his breath as he picked it up.

Ran home to change into comfy clothes. I’ll grab something better than mac & cheese. See you in a few.-Will

Hot relief flooded him, tempering the ache of rejection with muscle-melting anticipation. Grinning, Kory rummaged through the fridge and stood with a shriveled apple. He cut the bruises off with a steak knife before demolishing it in a matter of seconds. Then he grabbed his sketchbook, a hard graphite pencil and a softer one for shading, and sat on the couch to wait for his new friend to show.

The loud rumble of the AC lulled him into a meditative state as he scratched the drawing of an emaciated apple core. He was putting the final touches on it and scrawling the word hungry in box letters at the bottom when a knock sounded on the door.

The bag in Will’s hand smelled amazing, but Will himself looked more than appetizing in dark jeans and a gray short-sleeved shirt that revealed toned arms lightly dusted with dark hair.

“Are you comfy now?”

Will frowned. “What?”

“Your note. I half expected you’d be wearing pajamas.” Kory waved him in, grabbing the grocery bag from Will’s hands. “What do we have here?”

“Umm, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and coleslaw. It was fast. Sorry it’s not the healthiest.” Will frowned as if he’d done something wrong.

“Are you kidding? You show up with Thanksgiving dinner and you’re apologizing? I could kiss you right now for saving me from powdered cheese and noodles.” Will pursed his lips, but it looked more like displeasure than invitation. Crap. I’m never gonna say the right thing. Friends, Kory. Friends. “Hey, my dead, starved body won’t be on your ambulance run in the next few days, especially if you leave the leftovers.” Kory pulled Will over the threshold before he could escape, and waved him toward the couch. “Did you get a chance to select tonight’s feature film before you left?”

Will scanned the apartment and then gave Kory a questioning look.

“The sweet rack of VHS over there. Someone was giving them away. Can you believe it? And I picked up a VCR at the Salvation Army for two bucks.”

Will burst out laughing. “I brought some tapes to the dump about five or six years ago. Wish I’d saved them for you.”

“Fucker.” Kory snorted, stuck between elation at Will’s contagious smile and his own embarrassment. “Go check out the selection. You don’t like anything you see, you can leave. Without your bird and taters.”

He walked toward the kitchen to scrape together plates and silverware, and hoped Will could handle his humor. If not…well, there were certain things he couldn’t glaze over and get past. No funny bone was one. Bad kisser was the other major offense he would never be able to overlook. If he had to choose which was worse—frog-tongue kisser or stick-in-the-mud humor—he was incapable of pointing out the greater evil. They both sucked at the root canal level.

Will expelled a relieved whistle as he examined the collection.

“What’s up?”

“For some reason I was afraid this would be a rack of porn.”

“What?” The potato fork spun from Kory’s fingers and landed on the counter with a clatter and a miniature explosion of spuds.

“Eh, just my ex-boyfriend’s idea of a movie night, I guess.” Will glanced up, his cheeks red. “The only VHS he held onto were old porno flicks. Not that I think you would…and probably not even the same…” He trailed off and turned back toward the tape spines, running a hand through his hair.
Kory coughed. “Never watch it, myself.” That’d be like taking work home. Besides, he inevitably hated the way he looked on screen, or the way he delivered some cheesy line. At the end of the day, being on a shoot for hours was way more porn than he wanted to see.

“Wow.” Will turned back with a cautious smile and still-pink cheeks.

“Not a porn fan and you have this? I’m starting to think I’m being punked.” He held up Labyrinth.

Part of Kory felt like a liar. Another part of him argued it was a harmless omission, a white lie even, given that sweet, wistful look on Will’s face. Kory wasn’t the same person anymore. What Will didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of them. Kory could feel him out and maybe confess later, not scare Will away at the starting line. That Will didn’t watch porn made it perfect—made Will perfect. Here was someone without any preconceived biases about who Kory was or wasn’t. And more than anything he wanted to be liked for who he truly was, even if he was still stumbling his way through Kory Vansant 101 in many ways.

“With a full complement of characters that I could easily imagine being my next door neighbors, this could be the story of any average family. Having good days and bad days, making mistakes and then suddenly getting everything 100% right, only to blow it all over again. With laughter and tears, tragedy and triumph, love and loss written on every page, Hard Act to Follow makes my list of top ten romances of 2014!”

“Just keep ’em closed.” Chance Ralan turned the wheel of the black Cadillac Escalade and pulled into the crowded parking lot. He shot a glance at his husband, Alex, in the front passenger’s seat. The red paisley scarf covering half his face made him look like a bandit with bad aim.

“You tied a bandanna over my eyes, Chan. What could I possibly see?”

“Oh, don’t act like you never cheated at Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Everyone did.” Chance yanked the shift into park and pulled the key out of the ignition. “We’re here!”

“So, I can take this off?”

“Nope. Not yet.” Chance hopped out and jogged around the back of the vehicle. He opened Alex’s door and leaned over to unbuckle the seat belt, placing a quick kiss on his man’s lips as he did.

“Come on.” He took Alex’s hand and led him out of the truck. “Careful with this step.”

“If you were hoping for some kinky Valentine’s shit, you really should have cleared your plan with me, first.” Alex shivered in the frigid February night and Chance wrapped an arm around his back. The frozen pond outside the lit-up building made him wish they could have done this in June for the full effect.

But then it wouldn’t be a Valentine’s Day present.

“You’d be in your birthday suit for kinky shit, babe.” Chance swept a hand under the hem of Alex’s pea coat and grabbed his ass through the perfectly pressed wool of his tux. “Just another minute.” He pushed open the front door and pulled Alex into warmth. He led him through the lobby and finally stopped.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Alex pulled the scarf off and gazed around, his brow scrunched together while he ran fingers through mussed black-brown hair.

“What?” He cocked his head at the huge sign over the entrance to the Crystal Room. It read “Prom 2003: A Night to Remember.”

“I did my homework. That was the theme.” Chan took Alex’s hand and yanked him toward the door like a kid leading a parent into a toy store.

They stepped inside the function room festooned with purple and silver balloons, streamers, and tablecloths. At least a hundred people were there dressed in tuxedos and extravagant gowns. They stood and clapped when Chance and Alex walked in.

“What did you do?” Alex slowly shook his head as he took it all in.

“We missed it. So I made a do-over.”

Glen Palmer waved at them and Alex waved back, still shaking his head. His eyes widened as he scanned the room full of classmates from their senior year.

“We did our own thing, Chan. It was cool.” Alex turned to him, a bewildered smile on his gorgeous face.

Except it wasn’t cool, for so many reasons. Chance didn’t have the balls to admit who he was back then. Sure, they’d hung out secretly that night ten years ago, but just a few weeks afterward Alex’s dad caught them together and Chance had run like a chicken shit.

He spent nine years reliving and regretting, so maybe he’d paid his dues, but he was so excited to give Alex this little piece of their youth finally done right—out and proud.

“Is that Tara Bleaks? And that looks like…Jeremy! Jeremy Castiglione!” Alex scratched the back of his head and waved with his other hand. A general look of amusement was shared by nearly every prom attendee, but they gave Chance and Alex their space.

“Yup!” Chance took their coats and threw them over a vacant chair. “Plus some spouses you’ve never met. I tried to convince people to go with their original prom dates, but most of them didn’t like the idea.”

Alex gave him his wry, raised eyebrow stare. “You’re joking, right?”

“Yeah, rude, huh?”

Alex laughed and rolled his eyes. “You can’t do that to people. If I’d taken Heather Phillips like my mom tried to arrange, I’d be here with her, you dope.”

“Oh, no. That would mess with the time-space continuum.” Chan squeezed Alex’s hand tight. “That’d be like stepping on a prehistoric butterfly and turning the future world into a Lovecraft book. Let’s dance.”

“Babe, you didn’t really invent a time machine, you know.”

“Most of these women crammed themselves into their old dresses, with a few obvious exceptions.” Chance tilted his head toward a table of has-been cheerleaders who’d apparently traded their pom poms for bon-bons. “They’re playing 3 Doors Down, ‘Here Without You.’ It was Audioslave when we walked in. The DJ has my express orders to play nothing but music from ’03 or earlier. Yes, we’ve gone back in time.” He gave Alex a cocky grin.

“I’m pretty sure the real thing was heavy on the pop and dance music.”

“Yeah, well, when I fund the prom, they play only the shit I like. And I didn’t invite anyone I really hated, either.”

“What a catty bitch you are.” Alex laughed, his sapphire eyes sparkling under the shimmering lights of the disco ball above them.

“Mmm. And you love me anyway.”

“Yes, I do.”

Alex wrapped his arms around him and Chance melted against his perfectly tailored jacket. “This was really sweet, Chan. Now I’m feeling a little inadequate about what I got you.”

Chance stretched up to lock lips for a moment. “Don’t worry. You know what happens on prom night, don’t ya? You’re not gonna get off easy.”

“Isn’t that exactly what happens on prom night?”

“Oh, yeah…well, you know what I mean.”

“I have an idea. Thank God you didn’t rent a limo. I’d be up all night paying you back.”

Chance pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket. “Hold that thought…limos…limos…” He scrolled over the search results.

“Guess I’ll need a cup of coffee or two.” Alex laughed and leaned down to kiss him again.

John Mayer’s “Your Body is a Wonderland” came on. Alex grimaced.

Chance smirked and pulled him closer. “Shut up and just go with it.”

With a laugh and a pinch of Chance’s ass, Alex did just that.

The night was everything their prom should have been, with the added bonus of ending the party at their own house, greeting by their giant, doofy dog, and falling together into their shared king-sized bed. No way could their senior prom ever have been half as good.

“No! Watch out for the butterfly!” Alex mumbled in his sleep.

Chance placed a kiss on his temple and another on his cheek before he settled against Alex’s naked chest. “No changin’ this now, babe. Don’t worry.” He pulled the covers up around them both and closed his eyes.

So, there I was doing my final editing pass on Double Takes, when I decided to add the term “footsie.” Now, I’m sure I’ve written about couples nudging each other under a table before and not called it “footsie,” but the term made me laugh, so I used it.

Anyway, I figured I should look it up and make sure I’m spelling footsie correctly, and that it isn’t something so specific that I’m mislabeling Gio’s adorable little slide of his foot up Lance’s calf (no, not his baby cow–that would be weird and have a different name—possibly Cowsie).

In my quest for footsie Nirvana, I found this fabulous gem of a “How to:”

Photo courtesy of WikiHow

So stellar. I had a momentary panic attack when I saw the woman had her shoe off. Shit! Can’t you play footsie with shoes on? And then he reciprocated, and it was all clear as the freakin’ ice cube in my martini: Guys don’t take their shoes off for footsie!

Okay, so they might. In fact, I’m writing a character right now who would totally take his shoes off, and probably sneak to the little boys room to roll on a knee-high for the occasion. You go, Kyrie! But, it isn’t required, and that’s the Wikipedia-style info I’ve garnered with this tutorial.

Hooray! Footsie on, ye with penises!

Oh, and “Double Takes” is finally off to my publisher, Liquid Silver Books. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes. 🙂

Welcome to the Winter Wonder Man Blog Hop. I’m one of your many hosts, Kimber Vale. Our topic is sexy men who make your toes curl and keep you warm on those cold winter nights.

Well, here’s a babe who keeps my dreams spicy-hot.

Nothing I love more than a sexy singer covered in tattoos. Swoon. I’ve got a history of writing characters exactly like that, as a matter of fact. 😉

I’m days away from sending my second rock star book, Double Takes, Shooting Stars Book 2 to my publisher. To celebrate, I’ll include a snippet from that book.

—-

“Can’t be too careful, huh?” Gio said. Cities were cities, but still it seemed a little paranoid to lock your door just to walk down the stairs. Maybe he had an undesirable neighbor.

“Just a creature of habit, I guess,” Lance answered, as they stepped into his place. He dead bolted the door behind them. “Too many bad guys out there.”

“And yet you let me in.”

Lance turned to Gio with a serious expression.

“Are you a bad guy, Gio Savale? If you are, tell me now.” His face broke into a half-grin. “Yeah, it would shatter a decade-long fantasy. But if you’re here to spend the night, it’ll hurt much worse tomorrow.”

Gio’s stomach flip-flopped. Was he here to spend the night? And was he a good enough guy to live up to whatever Lance made him out to be?

I’m just a guy. Not a god. Not a hero. Hell and gone from perfect. Gio raked a hand through his hair as he searched for the truth. “My life’s a fucked-up mess.” He coughed a laugh. “I’m totally conflicted about even coming here…” He shook his head, asking for understanding with his eyes. “But I couldn’t stop myself.” Gio stepped closer to the man he’d inexplicably wanted since the first moment he saw him. “I’m just a guy who can’t get you out of my head. Is that good enough?”

Lance closed the distance between them. Their bodies nearly touched, and his warm hands reached up to frame Gio’s stubbled cheeks. “That’s perfect,” he said.

——-

If you love someone, set him free. If he steals something of yours, hunt him down and make him sorry.

Terms and Conditions: This promotion is in no way sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with, Facebook. We hereby release Facebook of any liability. Winner(s) will be contacted by email 48 hours after the giveaway ends. If you have any additional questions – feel free to send us an email!

Okay, it may not work for the almighty word count (hey, I’m up to 23,196 on my NaNoWriMo so nanny-nanny-boo-boo all you suckers who thought you had to get that shit done in a month).

No, seriously, I suck big fat ostrich…eggs when it comes to getting my writing done in a timely fashion. I’ve tried forcing it, but it simply won’t work for me that way. In the case of my NaNo, and current, WIP (Shooting Stars Book 3), I stopped after a week to work on edits for “Double Takes” so I could get that out to beta readers. Oh, and I started my November writathon a few days late because I had to finish DTs.

No, I still haven’t gotten DTs to my publisher. Screw you for judging me.

But, in my own slllloooooowwwww defense, my waiting-until-the-feeling-is just-right approach (and no, again, I was never like that with guys) is working for me now.

I’ve been mulling over my next scene in Shooting Stars Book 3—yes it has a title, and no I won’t tell you what it is because it is so fucking good and I am a weeeeeee bit paranoid a faster writer will rip that shit out from under me. Fuck, a dead writer could probably do it.

Shhhhhhh.

Where was I? Yeah, so I was trying to triangulate this scene (I was just doing some stupid math homework with the biggest hobbit. Forgive my triangulation), and I couldn’t quite make it work (not at all unlike this crazy 5th grade math homework. WTF????) so I slept on it.

I’m such a planner, I can’t sit down and write until it feels right, you know? I’ve heard of writing through writer’s block and that sounds swell, Beav, but if I don’t know what the hell I’m writing, then… What the hell am I writing? Damn straight I’ll be re-writing.

I digress. It’s the wine.

So, I had a vague outline for my scene based on the events of senior week for my character’s college, which I found online. I didn’t really like how it all fit together, and if I don’t like it in my head, I sure as shit don’t like writing it. Anyway, come to find out the next day after I slept on it (okay, twice. Maybe three times) that the itinerary I was looking at was for the wrong school with a similar name. Freakin’ Google. I Googled it again with the correct name to double-check, and the wrong one came up again. Same city. Similar name. I guess Google prefers BC to BU.

So does my husband.

Long story too freakin’ long, I scrapped the whole thing. Not that I couldn’t pull the artistic license card. I could. It’s fiction. But it wasn’t right and I knew it.

I guess my point is that I’m psychic. And I procrastinate.

Oh! And I slept on this new information and came up with a fantastic new scene in which I was able to write in my old buddy Gio from “Double Takes.”

See? Taking your sweet ass time can pay off on occasion.

Pipe down all you NaNo winners who are on your third book since November. I’ve got my ears covered and I’m singing “La Cucaracha” at the top of my voice.